


The Moon Remembers

by sannlykke



Series: 戦国奇跡 [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, I don't know how it ended up like this, M/M, Mild Language, Warring states period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3724270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sannlykke/pseuds/sannlykke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had liked being alone, back in his old domain. Where music flowed easily from his fingertips and the sky had given him relief. But not now, not here. Never here.</p><p>Until Kazunari showed up, at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moon Remembers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BeautifulThief](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulThief/gifts).



> Accompanying song: [琴師 (A Stringed Instrument Player)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4VcBCE-8fU)
> 
> (Some notes for beforehand:  
> \- Musashi was one of the regions that became part of Greater Tokyo later on, while Dewa Province became part of Akita Prefecture in 1876. Odawara Castle is in Kanagawa.  
> \- Some characters not canonly related to each other will be related in here, and most of the GoM have met each other at least once prior to the start of this fic.  
> \- I gave up editing halfway because this was getting ginormous so if there are any obvious mistakes, please do tell me below.)

Every night he would pray for the moon to appear.

His cell was bare, with sparse patches of hay on the ground masquerading as a bed. Though, Midorima Shintarou thought, he considered himself lucky to be here. When he had been led in, he’d seen no other occupied cells. For days he waited, almost obsessively, for the sound of familiar voices—even for the anger and sobbing that usually accompanied bitter defeat. But none came.

After a week Shintarou assumed the worst.

He felt strangely calm, though the throbbing pain on his left leg refused to subside. Every two days a guard would come to change the hay and empty the pot, which made the rotting smell—he did not, and did not _want_ to know what it was—slightly more bearable. A small window allowed him some fresh air from the outside, though as tall as he was Shintarou was unable to look out from it.

He had liked being alone, back in his old domain. But the stillness of the room gradually became stifling over the course of the week, then the next, and the next. Shintarou started to wonder what they would do with him. His leg had more or less healed, thanks to the medicine the guard brought to the cell.  

“You keep your fingers nice,” the guard had commented once, looking at said appendages after he’d brought a water pail. It was the one and only time Mayuzumi had spoken to him, other than giving his name.  

Shintarou had heard many things about the daimyo who held Rakuzan Castle, amid the multitude of others in the land. It was amazing the man had held on to one of the most strategic holdfasts in Heian-kyo for so long, as this was where the war had initially broke out. Akashi Seijuurou was never one to make mistakes, he’d heard Ootsubo say once, whether on the shogi board or in battle. Shintarou could at least see that much; _he_ was the one shackled up now, and his own daimyo was dead.

Dead, or worse. He could not imagine what else there would be in store.

“What would he have of me?” Was the first question he asked, and Shintarou was surprised by the cracked quality of his voice. Through the bars Mayuzumi quirked an eyebrow at him, then shrugged. He was creepy enough without that look on his face, the prisoner thought; the guard had a bad habit of coming around to his cell when he least expected it. Though, there really wasn’t anything for Shintarou to hide—all he did was sleep, walk around exercising his limbs, and occasionally try to look out the window.

Well, there _was_ one thing.

“You’ll see.” The answer made him turn his full attention towards the gaoler, partly because he hadn’t been expecting Mayuzumi to answer. “I’m not even supposed to talk to you, but whatever.” 

After he left, Shintarou reached under the newest pile of hay and pulled out a wooden comb, now missing one of its teeth. His fingers traced over the chipped green paint, over the bumps of the floral design and faint etching of kanji.

「幸子」 

He hated that his fingernails had grown so long now that they scraped the surface, making tiny scratch marks across the weathered ornament. He hated the fact that the moonlight did not stream through the window today, and the wet smell of grime that permeated his cell. He hated the dark and cramped space he was now beginning to think he would never get out of.

But he hated thinking of his sister more, because only then did the tears start coming.

-

“Midorima Shintarou?” 

A voice jolted him awake, though Shintarou was sure nothing in his expression demonstrated it. He eyed the newcomer coolly as he stood up; this was not a common guard of the likes of Mayuzumi, but a young man dressed richly in red silk with orange patterns. A visiting noble, perhaps, or some other Rakuzan court official, here to revel in his humiliation. His visitor’s eyes were sharp, reminding Shintarou of a hawk; there was something familiar in them, as well. Though his voice was cordial, Shintarou was somehow sure the other was not here to make him feel better. Behind him stood Mayuzumi, who looked bored out of his mind.

Shintarou nodded stiffly, looking into the other’s eyes. “Yes.” 

The man turned towards Mayuzumi, nodding. “You can leave now.”

As soon as the guard had taken his leave, the man smiled at him, almost slyly. “So, Shin-chan, you’ve been here for a while now.” 

When it dawned on Shintarou what exactly the other person had said,, the heat rose up in his face. “ _What_ did you just call me?” 

“Aish, you don’t mind it that much, do you?” He cracked a smile, obviously pleased that he had managed to fluster the other man. “Don’t look like that, I’m not here to execute you.”

Shintarou stared at him calmly, trying to ignore the tone of voice directed at him. It had been so long since he had talked to anyone, and yet this conversation was already leading down a road he would rather not take. “Are you here to laugh at me, then?”

“No.” Seeming to sense Shintarou’s discomfort, the other person held up his hands, eyeing the contents of the cell as he did so. “Kind of a small place to hold you.”

This time, Shintarou was the one to step forward, looking straight at the man. “I may be in _here,_ but if you are here just to make fun of me, I would rather suffer more silence.“

Bold words for a prisoner, Shintarou knew, as he watched the other’s smile falter ever so slightly. “Ah, I said all this before even telling you my name. Is that why you’re angry?”

“I’m not angry.” The words came out sharper than he intended. “I—“

“Don’t worry.” The orange-clad man grinned wryly. “Akashi- _sama_ won’t know about this, if that was what you were worrying about. The name’s Takao Kazunari.”

 _Why does he think I’m worrying about anything?_ But he had no time to think further on that, as the name had caught his attention. He adjusted his glasses. “Takao…from Musashi?”

“Originally, yes.” Kazunari beamed at him, an expression that earned him another strange look. “I’m surprised you remember. We’ve met once, five years ago…”

 _Oh._ The memories started to surface as Kazunari talked on. Shintarou had been sixteen, and the fighting had not been nearly as bad as it was now. The daimyo had invited a number of families for a dinner party that day, including clans from further afield. There had been a friendly boy coming up to say hello, his eyes sharp enough to have left am impression on the young Shintarou. Though Shintarou had little recollection of what other words were passed between them, he was sure now that boy was Kazunari. “I remember.”

“You play the _koto_ really well.”

“I…what?“ Shintarou pushed at his glasses, a little too hastily. “I don’t remember playing for—”

“It was the daimyo’s daughter, remember? You played for her.”

“…I did.”

A short silence overtook them, wherein Shintarou tried to gain control of his thoughts. This was so _weird_ , all of it, talking to someone he had a brief encounter with all those years ago, in a place so far from home. One thought in particular stood out, but the answer came to him as soon as he opened his mouth. “…Why are _you_ here, Takao?”

-

“Akashi really likes music, you know.”

Kazunari had come to visit him again, on his own this time. Shintarou looked away, then back at him with a skeptical expression. “I don’t understand.”

“The previous court musician has been dead for nearly three months,” Kazunari continued, as if he hadn’t heard the comment. “I think you’d be a good fit, wouldn’t you, Shin-chan?”

“Stop calling me that.” Shintarou’s mouth twitched in annoyance. It had been surprising, even somewhat heartening, to meet someone who had been to his home, but there was a limit to what insults (in his mind, anyway) he could take. “It’s…indecent. And…if Akashi really wanted to use me for anything, he would have summoned me already.”

There was a tinge of bitterness to his voice that Kazunari did not fail to pick up.

“He couldn’t have.” This time, his voice was quieter. “He’s been gone for the entire time you were here, Shin-chan. Akashi just got back two days ago from the Emperor’s palace.”

Shintarou blinked at him. “Why didn’t you tell me that the first time?”

“I wasn’t sure—“ Here, Kazunari sighed, running a hand through his hair in an almost apologetic manner. “Ah, well, I didn’t know if you would remember me. I forgot, honestly, and you didn’t ask!”

“…” Right. Shintarou sat back down and leaned against the wall, which was now much cleaner than it used to be. Mayuzumi had come in the day before to tell him that he was to move to another room soon, and there had been another man with him to clean up his present cell. For the first time since he’d come in, the place smelled fresh. “If that were true, how…“

“I’ll take care of it.” Kazunari waved a hand. “It’s the least I could do for an acquaintance. But.”

“But?” 

Kazunari stepped closer to the cell, and Shintarou saw, for the first time, a chill of uncertainty there. “There’s…something you need to know, about him…”

-

A day later he was woken up roughly by Mayuzumi, who looked just as annoyed as Shintarou was for being up at such an unholy hour. For the first time in over a month he was led out of the cell and into a bathing room. A fresh change of clothes waited for him, folded neatly on a stool inside; he picked them up, and the black-and-orange fabric smelled of mild incense.

_Well then._

Shintarou was meticulous in his cleaning, though the past days of washing himself with a scrub and tiny wooden pail had made him compromise somewhat. The tub that presented itself before him was made of the highest quality of wood, and he could feel the steam beading up on his skin already. He took his time in the hot water, feeling it slide down his hair and neck, the small waves lapping at his shoulders. The room was dim, illuminated only by a single lamp, but Shintarou liked it better that way. He could see just enough to cleanse himself; any more, and he was positively sure he would want to shrink into himself. 

And he did not want to keep Akashi waiting, as much as he felt bile coming up his throat at the thought of that. He was about to see the man who had caused the deaths and destruction of his daimyo’s army, the man who was kin to the Emperor and rumored to be the _real_ pusher behind the capital’s policies as of late. The man who, if Kazunari were to be believed, there were two of.

He pushed his glasses on and stowed the comb into the folds of his kimono. At eighteen Shintarou had gone onto the battlefield in his elderly father’s place as _taisho,_ though his learning had mostly been done in the study, front of a _koto_. He had proved himself worthy, and their family had risen to become one of the daimyo’s top retainers. Shintarou had felt proud to have done such a thing that many had not thought he would, and so when the next campaign came up, he had agreed. Winning was his duty to his family, after all.

Sachiko had cried when he left. He’d told her to stop, no, that was not befitting of a young lady her age, while gently squeezing her on the shoulder. She’d taken the comb out of her hair and pressed it into the palm of his hand, whispering:

_“Shin-chan, don’t go.”_

The lamp grew dimmer. Shintarou finished dressing himself, and, after taking a deep breath, walked out the door.

-

_“He can be quite…capricious.”_

Kazunari needn’t have told him twice. Standing in another daimyo’s room was nerve-wracking even to someone who had grown up with all the pomp and traditions of these meetings. Still, his face remained expressionless as he entered the room, kneeling down before the red-haired man sitting above him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he found it fortuitous that he had not come dressed in chains.

Akashi Seijuurou did not look much older than him, yet he radiated an immense aura of majesty that Shintarou had never felt before. He was currently looking at his prisoner as a cat would a mouse, motionless as he studied his enemy’s most brilliant general to date. Shintarou, feeling a tingle on his back, looked up and straight into Akashi’s eyes.

“…” Though Akashi held on to the gaze, Shintarou felt the atmosphere change. The guards standing beside the daimyo stole glances at each other. “Stand up, Midorima Shintarou.”

He did as told. _I will do what he asks, but I will stand tall._

“Kazunari tells me you are a good _koto_ player,” Akashi began slowly, his enunciation crisp and clear. There was a weight to that voice that was oddly calming, despite their differences. “Among many other things, I’m sure. I commend you for your skill on the field.”

 _But I won_ was left lingering in the air. Shintarou pressed his lips together for a moment, lowering his eyes before speaking. “Thank you, Lord Akashi.”

“Mibuchi, Nebuya, bring me the instrument.” The men bowed and moved towards the large cabinet. Shintarou watched as they opened the doors and brought out a gold-rimmed _koto_ ; Nebuya laid it in front of him, then stepped back. Shintarou looked up again and swore he could see a trace of a smile playing on Akashi’s lips, though his voice had no trace of it. “It’s nearing the new year, isn’t it? Play me _Haru no Umi_ , Midorima Shintarou.”

Of course he would choose a song like that. But Shintarou felt the weight of the comb inside his kimono, and he had done his best to take care of his fingers in the past two days. He was sure of them today as on any other day; the rest was up to the heavens to decide.

When his fingers touched the strings for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, a feeling of exhilaration traveled through Shintarou’s body. It was different from the kind of feeling he got on the field, aiming for the enemy lines. As his fingers danced between and above the strings, pulling music from the silk, he thought of the cherry trees back home. 

In a few weeks’ time they would be blooming. When Sachiko was younger, she would ask him to sneak out with her at night. Shintarou would look up the astrology charts to figure out the brightest phase of the moon, and they’d shuffle past the sleepy guards into the courtyard. She had always maintained that the flowers looked the best in moonlight, and he had inclined to agree.

Sachiko was thirteen now, ready for too many things Shintarou wished she would never be ready for.

When he finished, the room was silent. Carefully he looked up from the _koto_ ; Nebuya’s attempts to hide his sniffling face was almost comical, while Mibuchi seemed to be appraising him with more feeling. Shintarou turned towards the daimyo’s seat.

Akashi’s eyes were closed. _Had he fallen asleep?_ was the first thought that ran through Shintarou’s head. The daimyo had chosen that exact moment to open his eyes and give his prisoner a very unnerving stare. Shintarou was not afraid of very many things, but those looks were something he did not want to experience more than he needed to. Not even the smile that followed could mitigate that.

“I believe,” Akashi said. “We have a new court musician.”

- 

Rakuzan did seem a completely different sort of court than what Shintarou was used to. It was quieter, for one, and visitors were scarce. Akashi did not appear to entertain the public very often, and what concerts he requested for were mostly private. Still, as Shintarou made his way toward the dining room, he was constantly reminded of his status. With his new position within the court he had gained access to the castle perimeters, but there was always someone watching. _One wrong step…_

“Shin-chan!”

A threatening look in their direction quelled the snickers of several servants, but Shintarou was unable to do the same for the man who had caught up with him. There was a look of glee in Kazunari’s eyes as he walked beside him. There was nothing in particular Shintarou thought he could talk about, but at the very least, there was something he hadn’t said yet. ”Takao. Thank you.”

Kazunari nodded, looking pleased with himself. “Like I said, least I could do. I’m surprised Akashi-sama decided so fast—he must’ve already been interested in you.“

“Is that so.” Shintarou was not particularly thrilled with this conclusion, though he admitted that it would be the case for someone like Akashi. There had to be something that set him apart from the rest of the quarreling daimyo falling over one another. As curious as he was, Shintarou was hesitant to ask. Kazunari had been here much longer than he had, and had come to Rakuzan in quite a different manner than how Shintarou did. And there was his position to consider, as well. “Perhaps he was moved by your enthusiasm.”

“Is that a joke I’m hearing, Shin-chan?”

“I don’t make jokes.” In all, though, Kazunari was not as annoying as he could be, save for the childish nicknaming. They did not even see each other all that often in the past two months, as Kazunari’s duties prescribed. Shintarou allowed himself to be accompanied into the room, where they waited for dinner to be served. “You don’t seem to be busy today.”

“Slow day, nothing to report,” Kazunari waved the words away. Around them, other retainers were chatting in low voices. The only reason Shintarou was even allowed to dine with them was due to his birth, he knew, and not the circumstances he was in at the moment. In any case, Akashi would not be joining them as he was currently dining with an envoy from up north. Kazunari jabbed a finger discreetly at one of their seat-mates. “Well, I _could_ tell him about Hideki screwing one of the serving girls, but…”

Shintarou sat up and stared at him, aghast. “Takao, we are _eating_.”

“I know, I know…it doesn’t take much to set you off, does it?” This earned Kazunari an actual jab at his side, which did nothing to stop his mouth. “Shin-chan, that _hurts_!”

“Stop calling me that!”

“ _Shin-chan_ —“

Someone coughed, and the pair looked up to see about half the room staring in their direction. Cheeks hot, Shintarou pulled together and scooted away from Kazunari. The latter just gave him a look. 

Clearly, this place was going to making him go insane.

-

Two months became four, then six. An uneasy peace had settled on the outside; Akashi had managed to convince a majority of the other daimyo to a prolonged ceasefire. How he had done it Shintarou did not know, but anything was better than the continuous fighting he had known most of his life. 

In the meantime, things moved at the same pace as they always did within the confines of the castle. All except…

“You have a sister, Shintarou?” The way Akashi said it did not sound much like a question, though Shintarou took it as such. They were sitting in one of the daimyo’s private rooms, thankfully without his guards this time. 

Akashi wanted a _koto_ lesson; the daimyo had much more renown on the _shamisen_ and flute. Some would call it reckless of Akashi to behave this way around a former enemy, but Shintarou knew better. It would have to be an even more reckless and downright idiotic man to try and take down Akashi Seijuurou in his own house. Besides, all Shintarou could focus on right now was perturbation at recognizing that Akashi’s musical talents were on par to or even greater than his own. 

“Yes, my lord.” Kazunari had brought him news on occasion; as one of the eyes and ears of the holdfast while Akashi was away on campaign or to the capital, he was afforded access to all the news and rumors firsthand. Edo castle was being administered by a deputy, but his family was safe for now. The beat of silence pushed him to talk further. “Her name is Sachiko.”

He had a distinctly uneasy feeling about where this conversation was going. Akashi had yet to take a wife, though Shintarou didn’t need Kazunari to tell him to know there was an endless string of noblewomen waiting for that title. The daimyo tilted his head, and a small smile crept into that expression Shintarou was finding hard to ignore. “You miss your family. Her." 

“I—“ Shintarou looked at him with knotted brows, unsure of what he was being asked to do. Was Akashi…taking _pity_ on him? Even if it were a trick of some sort, it was not in him to lie. “I do.”

“I see.”

They did not bring this up again for the remainder of the lesson, but Shintarou had a nagging feeling this was not the end of it.

-

“I don’t know why he asked about it,” Shintarou muttered as he shivered, bringing the cup of tea closer to his lips. Beside him on the balcony, Kazunari looked into his own cup. It was getting chilly, with the trees on fire in gold and crimson beyond the moat. The advisor had just returned from a lengthy trip to Dewa, and during that time Shintarou found himself somehow missing the familiarity of ‘ _Shin-chan’_ and the chattiness that he had hated just under a year ago. Distances change people, he thought, and left it at that.

“Is she the one who gave you that comb?”

“—!” Instinctively Shintarou’s hand went to his front, where he kept the comb wrapped under layers of cloth. “How did you know about…the…?”

He must’ve looked really flabbergasted this time, because Kazunari burst out laughing. “I— _Shin-chan_ , it’s really sweet, okay. Sorry. I mean, I’ve seen you take it out sometimes. I never heard about you having a wife, so—”

“Takao,” Shintarou began, lowering his hand. “It’s rude to spy on people.”

“You think I’m _spying_ on you?” Kazunari placed his own hand over his chest in mock offense. Shintarou was unmoved.

“I—hmph, whatever.” At least Kazunari wasn’t asking to look at the comb. But it _had_ confirmed some things. “Do you tell Akashi about this, too?”

“Ah, so you really do think so.” Something in Kazunari’s voice forced Shintarou to bite back the response he had in mind. Silence was strewn between them, a silence that felt off this time. A single red leaf fluttered in front of them, and he reached out to grab it. “Akashi sent me back earlier from the capital to have a look at you.

“I suppose it was because—I told him we had met before. He was about to send Hayama, but he let me come once I told him.”

“Akashi trusts you?”

“I don’t know.” Kazunari exhaled, then let go of the leaf. “I doubt he trusts any of us. Look, Shin-chan, I _didn’t_ know if it was going to work. But—you know this too, that it gets scary surrounded by strangers in this place. I’ve been here for three years. I just … wanted someone to talk to, I suppose. But _you_ were the one who convinced him.”

“I did what I had to.” Truth be told, Shintarou had found working as a musician a sort of relief, after the initial bitterness had worn away. Not that this was all he wanted to accomplish in life. But the truth of the matter was that he was stuck here for the time being. “I can only look ahead now.”

“A-ah, this is becoming too serious for me,” Kazunari stepped away from the ledge, yawning. “Come on, let’s see if there’s anything in the kitchen.”

“…” Shintarou watched him saunter off, waving a hand between the pillars for the taller man to follow. If he hadn’t known better, he could’ve sworn that that wasn’t all Kazunari had to say.

- 

Few people entered Shintarou’s chambers at night when he still lived in Edo, and even fewer did so here. So his surprise was magnified tenfold when he heard the creak of the wooden frames as he practiced his calligraphy. “…Takao?”

“Do you want to see something?” The other man was, to Shintarou’s uncomfortable realization, dressed in nothing but a thin robe. And excitement.

“Do _I_ want to see something? How about you put some more clothes on.” Shintarou did not move from his seat. It was past midnight, an ungodly hour for visiting. “You’ll get sick.”

“ _Shin-chan_ , it hasn’t even started snowing yet. I’ll be fine.” To Shintarou’s dismay the other man proceeded to walk over to look at his desk, as well as the piece of paper in front of him. “Your handwriting is so neat!”

“…” How he had dealt with this man up until now was a miracle unto itself, but Shintarou allowed himself a small smile at the compliment. “I appreciate it. Now, what in the world were you talking about?”

Kazunari almost hauled him off the tatami mats at once. “You don’t remember? It’s Otsukimi today!”

 

 

Shintarou _had_ remembered, but the very thought of having to put up with the drunken rowdiness of so many people had caused him to retire into his room earlier than he had wanted to. But as Kazunari led him down the hallway, he could see that most of the party had already dissipated, as per usual with Akashi’s strict policies. “Is this going to get us into more trouble?”

“What do you mean, _more_ trouble?” Clearly he did not remember accidentally knocking over one of Akashi’s prized vases a month ago. Only a well-aimed cushion thrown by Shintarou had saved them from certain death. “Nobody will see us if we go…this way!”

Shintarou had absolutely no idea how they wound up perched dangerously atop one of the roofs, eating dango Kazunari had pilfered from the kitchens. But the moon was bright above their heads, rounder and closer than Shintarou had ever seen it before. A perfect reflection was etched in the water below, as tiny ripples broke and mended it again and again.

“It _is_ cold.” Kazunari shivered, pulling himself closer to Shintarou. The latter only sighed in resignation. “Sorry, sorry. I should’ve listened, okay?”

“Do you want to go back to fetch a warmer kimono?”

“I don’t want to move.” 

Silence. Then more shuffling of clothes. It _was_ warmer when they sat closer together, Shintarou realized, though perhaps some of that heat was from his cheeks. How _that_ got there was another question. Hopefully Kazunari was right about this place being discreet; it would be awkward to explain to _anyone_ what they were doing. He passed the plate to the other man, looking away. “…Here, have the last one.”

“Shin-chan, I didn’t know you were so kind!”

“Watch it or I’ll move away again.” He huffed and brought his knees closer. It was much more difficult now that he was so tall. Shintarou reached in and felt the comb’s weight against his skin. Wordlessly he drew it out, holding it so that the moonlight would wash over it. Then he spoke in spite of himself. “Here.”

At first he thought Kazunari was not listening, but then a hand closed over his, touching the comb. “May I?”

He watched the other man look at the comb, tracing over the words. “Hey.”

“…Mm?”

“You must be a good brother, Shin-chan.” Kazunari handed the comb back. His fingers were softer than Shintarou expected, but what he was expecting less was the comment. The other man must’ve read something in his face, because he continued. “Did you do something like this with her often?”

“I did.” No use hiding it, now. He felt a little woozy, though it might’ve just been the cold. _Had there been alcohol in the dango?_ “When I was—when she was—younger.

But you must be mistaken. I’m not a good brother.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them, and between them the air was still. “If I were, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I have a sister, too.” 

Shintarou nearly dropped the comb.

“She’s eleven now.” Kazunari was not looking at him. “Kazue. That’s her name. I haven’t seen her since I came here, though I expected that. She’s always getting into trouble. My fault, I suppose, but she liked it. She liked to play in the water, the pond we had back home. I should’ve…”

A hand touched Shintarou’s on the tiles; he fidgeted in surprise, but did not pull away.

“…I don’t have anything to remember her by."

Shintarou’s fingers closed over his, hesitantly at first. Something was stirring in his stomach as they moved even closer, sharing the warmth of two under the silvery night. Already it was at its brightest, he thought. Kazunari’s hair tickled at his chin. The other man was not as thin as he’d first thought, but Shintarou liked the weight lying against him. Not that he would admit such a thing. Yet…

Was Kazunari crying?

He was at a loss, until he felt, distinctly, wetness on his own cheeks. With his right hand Shintarou swiped them away. He had always been reserved and meticulous and calm, but this man was making him feel every bit of the awkwardness he never had in court.

His grip tightened.

“Kazunari." 

He leaned in as the other man looked up. Their noses touched, gently, and Shintarou’s glasses slid forward. Kazunari reached to push them up, his fingers tapping the bridge of Shintarou’s nose. It felt pleasantly ticklish.

“You’ll see her again.” _For now, I am here._  

He felt Kazunari move forward, lips warm against the nape of his neck. “ _We_ will.”

-

“I think Akashi knows.” 

Shintarou looked around to see if anyone was listening—there was nobody—then whispered back surreptitiously. “Don’t be ridiculous. We haven’t been _doing_ anything—”

At that, Kazunari sneezed. 

“I _told_ you you’d get sick.” He wondered how many exasperated sighs he would have to make until Kazunari got it through his head. It had been barely a week since their rooftop escapade, during which time Akashi had visited the Emperor _and_ summoned Kazunari into his meeting room more frequently than usual. That had set Shintarou on edge; there were so many possible things that could go wrong, their personal relationship aside. “What did he _say_ to you?“

“Nothing! I just don’t have a good feeling about this.” Kazunari seemed adamant, and that only worried Shintarou more, try as he might to hide it. Nothing screamed ‘bad idea’ more than Akashi Seijuurou finding out his subordinates were involved with each other. “He…there’s a retinue from Odawara coming in today.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” But the name gave him a start. “…Odawara. Don’t tell me.”

Kazunari quirked an eyebrow at him. “Tell you what? That they’ve brought Kise Ryouta along?”

Shintarou groaned inwardly. Talk about throwing even more volatility into the mix. Ryouta was a cousin on his mother’s side, and an infamous flirt throughout the entire Kanto region. But he had no idea what exactly the retinue was here _for_ ; Ryouta was the only son in his family, and they seemed to get along with the Akashi clan considerably better than Midorima’s own family did. “What is he doing here?”

“About that—“

“Midorimacchi!”

“ _Shit_.” If Kazunari was surprised by the vulgarity coming from Shintarou’s mouth, and he _was_ , he had no time to show it as something very golden and very fast barreled into said man at full speed. This promptly caused Kazunari to lose all semblance of composure as he broke into a fit of laughter.

“Ryouta, I think that might be a bit too much, don’t you think?” At the sound of Akashi’s voice behind them Shintarou hastily stood up, dusting himself off as he pointedly stood away from Ryouta. The blond stood up almost as quickly, but a wide grin still hung on his face as he turned towards Akashi.

“Maa, Akashicchi, it’s just I haven’t seen my cousin in such a long time!” 

Shintarou could not believe his eyes as Ryouta outright _hugged_ Akashi, with the latter standing there and taking it in stride. He adjusted his glasses in embarrassment. “It…no, I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

He looked at Akashi, then at Ryouta, then at Kazunari, who looked as if he were about to burst out laughing again. _Shouldn’t he feel_ mortified _at what they almost overheard?_ Shintarou pursed his lips in anticipation before he realized what he had just said. “Wait, no, I mean. Ryouta. Why are you here.”

Kazunari opened his mouth, but Akashi cut him off. “I do not believe it’s prudent to talk of such things in a hallway.”

“It’s not like Midorimacchi’s not going to find out sooner or later,” Ryouta shrugged, turning to his cousin and flashing a brilliant smile. “I’m really just here to accompany Aominecchi and Momoicchi. Guess who’s getting married!”

 Shintarou’s mouth fell open.

-

“This is ridiculous.”  

“At least it’ll take his thoughts off us for a while.” Kazunari paused, then resumed toying with Shintarou’s hair. They were inside Shintarou’s room where he was preparing for the next _koto_ lesson. He had not seen Akashi since that incident in the hallway two days ago, and less of Ryouta than he expected. He had met the princess once before, many years ago, and her boisterous half-brother as well. _That_ had left quite an impression. Still, it was not so unthinkable in the grand scheme of things. “It _is_ strange she would marry below her rank, though.”

“If he really is thinking about us.” _Us_. It still felt weird on his mouth, that word that had only ever been used for family. But—he liked it. He put the brush back in its holder. “I suppose they know each other well enough. I would not know about their personal relationship, in any case.”

“Well,” Kazunari started, though that train of thought was cut off by a murderous stare. He took the opportunity to peck Shintarou on the cheek instead. “What? I wasn’t about to say anything.”

“Never mind.” There wasn’t anything for him to do other than take it. Sighing, Shintarou left the room, but not before softly brushing Kazunari’s cheek.

 

 

Akashi seemed to notice he was on edge as soon as Shintarou entered the room. “Sit down, Shintarou.”

“Yes.” He did as told, but jerked back in alarm as a cat jumped out from behind Akashi, purring up and down its owner before disappearing back underneath another cabinet. Shintarou did not remember there being a cat in the castle, ever. “Was that…”

“Satsuki’s cat.” Akashi’s gaze was as unnerving as always, though Shintarou detected a hint of light mockery in them. How he knew about Shintarou’s dislike of cats was something else entirely. “Before we begin, Shintarou, there is something I would like you to know.”

Shintarou kept his fingers steady as he moved and tweaked the _koto_ strings, his eyes only barely keeping up with the stare.

“You must be wondering many things.” He gestured vaguely to the cat. “Including my soon-to-be wife. The emperor is granting me a new title. I will be moving court soon.”

“I…see, my lord.” That meant only one thing. Suddenly Akashi reached forward, picking up something from the mat. A passing glance from Shintarou caused his heart to shoot up into his throat.

For what seemed like an eternity Akashi studied the comb in his hands, turning it over much the same way Kazunari did. His fingers twitched, twanging the strings on accident. Akashi looked up, and Shintarou froze.

“This is very dear to you.” He held the comb out to Shintarou, who, as if entranced, took it back slowly. His fingers smoothed over the missing tooth briefly before depositing the comb back into the folds of his clothing. Shintarou nodded. “I am certain I have made the right decision, then.”

“The right decision?”

Akashi gave him a look that, had he not been virtually in control of every aspect of Shintarou’s life at the moment, would’ve certainly earned him a scathing remark by the latter. 

“I suppose I did not make myself clear when I first asked you about your sister.” He shrugged. “Though I thought you might have caught on then.”

“I did.” _What will you do with me now?_ hung in the air, like dew on a spiderweb. Shintarou decided that he’d had enough. “Yes, I did. But I would—I _would_ rather stay here. As much as I do not want to admit it.”

“Is that all?” Akashi replied mildly. “It was my impression that there’s something else keeping you here.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Please, Shintarou.” Now that the smile was apparent, Shintarou didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I like to consider myself observant. Kazunari isn’t exactly _subtle_. Although that can be useful, at times.”

A muscle twitched on Shintarou’s face, but all he felt was the heat rising up inside. So Kazunari had been right— _damn him_ , why was that face swimming so clearly at the front of his mind—about everything. Or perhaps that was what Akashi let him think. His eyes widened. “You…”

“You can think whatever you want.” The cat poked its head out from behind the cabinet, and Shintarou scooted away, thoughts dissipating. “But, don’t you think it’s time to teach?” 

- 

The following days were a blur, and Shintarou was felt he never quite caught up with what exactly was going on. Akashi did not mention anything about illicit relationships, although Shintarou waited and waited for the other shoe to drop. He had other things to worry about, however, the least of all which was to play for the endless stream of guests that had become the norm.

Still, most of them were confined to one wing of the castle. _Away_ from him.

“They’re leaving again next week,” Kazunari said. _His_ duties, on the other hand, had become fewer. It was not unusual for Shintarou to find him lounging around in his room after coming back fromwherever he was. He appreciated the extra time they had, but not without previous thoughts clouding their meetings. Plus the fact that Ryouta had also taken to poking in every so often. Heaven forbid he bring his friends, Shintarou thought. “Back to the palace. Ah, I suppose this was just a fun venture for the princess. They’re probably getting married at her place—hey, Shin-chan, are you listening?”

“I don’t know what this gossip has to do with us.” His hand shook a little, and the stoke under his brush came out misshapen. “You’re distracting me, Kazunari.”

“I’m always distracting you.”

“ _Why_ do you sound so happy about that.” He was about to continue on when a shuffling sound outside his door disrupted him yet again. Kazunari snorted at the horror that dawned on his face. “…Yes?” 

“Midorimacchi, can I come in?”

“No.”

“So mean!” Still, the door slid open, and in poured Ryouta. To Shintarou’s horror, he was not alone. “Look who I brought! Ah, I see Takaocchi is here too!” 

“Why do you do this.” Shintarou was relieved, at least, that Kazunari had not been touching him inappropriately when they tumbled in. Behind Ryouta stood Aomine Daiki, who looked completely bored out of his mind, and just as unwilling to be there as Shintarou himself felt. “My room is not an entertainment center.”

“Sure looks like one now,” Daiki yawned. Shintarou thought about picking up the inkstand on his desk and, in one clean motion, hurl it at his head. He was more than capable of doing it. “So what do you do in here, practice calligraphy and fuck Takao until Akashi asks for a concert?”

Ink splashed onto his kimono as Shintarou completely turned around, at once flabbergasted and steaming. “ _What?_ ”

“Aominecchi!” Ryouta smacked him while Kazunari choked in the background. “That’s rude!”

“Out of my room. _Now_.” Shintarou could not believe what he’d just heard. No, this place _was_ driving him out of his mind. He must’ve done something to offend the very heavens above. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Daiki waved a hand, smirking at the red-faced man. “Whole castle knows about it, probably. Don’t worry, it won’t get to the emperor. So long as Akashi lets you.”

“Get _out_.” 

Shintarou practically shoved the both of them out the door, but not before Ryouta craned his neck back, painfully, and told him the reason of this visit.

“Wait! Akashicchi told us to come get you!”

- 

“I have a proposal, Shintarou.”

“Was it necessary to send those two?” Somehow, over time, he had lost the will to continue playing this game. It was the kind of quiet comeback that would not get him thrown out, but Shintarou bit back the worst parts, still. Not for himself.

“I cannot let my guards leave me for too long.” A wry smile played at his lips as he motioned for Shintarou to sit. “Nor can I talk to Satsuki on my own for long, if Daiki is not otherwise preoccupied.”

“So you’re using me as bait.” It was not much different how he’d won, almost an entire year ago. Had it been so long—or so short, Shintarou did not know which one. The him a year ago would’ve laughed at the idea of casually bantering with his enemy in this way. But the him a year ago did not have Kazunari. “My lord.”

“Hm.” When he was thinking, Akashi did not tap at his chair or hum some small tune, or do anything, really, like the common man. Instead he focused on Shintarou with such intensity that it wouldn’t have been surprising if he’d spontaneously burst into flame. Fortunately this was something Shintarou had more or less gotten used to, and so he quiet pointedly decided to ignore it. “As I was saying. As many… _rules_ as you’ve broken here, you’ve served me quite well, Shintarou." 

—He had been doing _so_ well in that department, too, before that night on the roof.

“As I mentioned before, I am short on reliable agents to send my word. To be stationed, that is a better word.” He studied Shintarou’s face, and, finding the other impassive, continued. “I could send another—but, my deputy in Edo is also ailing. It is a pity that he is not as able as I had thought. I regret that I had not come across you earlier.”

Shintarou could hear the silence drumming inside his ears as those words sank in.

“I will allow you to return home, Midorima Shintarou, and govern Edo in my stead.” Red eyes looked at him steadily, daring him to rebuke. He found himself rooted to the spot. “First you will swear your loyalty to me again, of course.”

 _And Kazunari?_ The words formed in his throat, but refused to budge through his teeth. Shintarou found himself nodding, mechanical. “Yes.“

“Good.” There was a glint in Akashi’s eyes. “You will leave in ten days’ time.”

-

“If that was a joke, it’s a pretty bad one.”

“That would be correct.” Shintarou took a deep breath. “Another thing. _Why_ for the love of everything does the entire castle know about…about…?”

Kazunari bit his lip. “I don’t know! I don’t… _damn_. Should I stay away for a bit? Is that what you want?”

That was too much. Shintarou allowed the words to flow, this time. “He is _already_ trying to keep us apart, Kazunari. Do you think _I_ want that?”

“Shin-chan—“

“This is ridiculous.” They were toys, Shintarou knew. Toys to play with, then tossed aside casually when time came. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known this would be the sort of life he’d lead as a nobleman’s son. But he did not want it to have been Akashi—perfect, calculating, winning in every way possible. The man who had shut him down in the most humiliating way possible, given him a chance again, but taking away something in return each time.

He thought of his parents, of Sachiko, of the cherry trees under the moon. He thought of the many different ways the servants might’ve looked at him in the hallway, in quiet tones discussing what he could only assume to be slights against his virtue. He thought of Akashi laughing his quiet laugh behind closed doors, and the rest of them too.

He thought, until arms draped across his shoulders, holding him tight.

“You think too much.” Kazunari kissed his ear, knocking the glasses aside. His voice was faint, buried inside the nape of Shintarou’s neck. “We’ll figure something out.”

The tight grip on Shintarou’s arms told another story.

- 

“Hey, Midorima.”

Shintarou had come to the conclusion that no way in hell was anyone going to leave him alone after Akashi had announced the news at dinner. He was right.

He had not wanted to come to the balcony at first, but Kazunari had disappeared almost as soon as dinner was finished. But there was nowhere else in the castle that was secluded in this way, a place where Akashi rarely went and far enough from his chambers to escape the throngs of people. What he had not counted on was Daiki being there.

Had been any other time, Shintarou would’ve ignored him. “Aomine.”

The moon was obscured by clouds today, casting shadows on both their faces. The other man moved closer to the railing, playing at his hair. “Kise told me to come apologize.”

“Aren’t you honest.” Shintarou raised an eyebrow.

“I am, yeah.” Daiki glanced at him briefly, then shrugged. “Though I guess you aren’t as bothered by what I said anymore since Akashi, well, yeah.”

Here was another person Shintarou had difficulty dealing with who was steadily making him want to scream. He wondered, momentarily, what it would be like to disappear into a hole. “That doesn’t sound like an apology to me.”

“Sorry.” 

It did not sound particularly pleasing, but unlike Ryouta, Daiki rarely put up pretenses. He had to be here for _something_ other than verbal harassment. Shintarou hoped.“Is there anything else you want to say?” 

Shintarou watched the other man fidget, remembering how he used to do the same as a child. Daiki had never been one to sit still, always grabbing at things and poking his sister, much to the chagrin of her mother. It was enough to make any well-mannered child like Shintarou mildly horrified. “Look, I know you don’t want this.”

 _I don’t know how you know much of anything about me._ He fought the urge to voice it. “Whether I want it or not does not factor into what I need to do.”

“Just listen to what you’re saying,” Daiki said, and there was a hint of annoyance in his voice. Shintarou turned towards him, mild confusion flitting across his face. “Whatever, I’m done.”

“I…” The comeback died in his throat as the words sank in, rooting Shintarou to the spot. 

Before he left through the door, Daiki turned back to look at him. “Your...friend is with Kise, by the way.” 

“Thank you,” Shintarou said, to his receding back, before realizing he was gone. As expected. A soft shuffling noise turned his attention towards the shadow behind the pillars. “…I know you’re there.”

-

“Kazunari, what a surprise.” 

-

For the last time Shintarou surveyed his room, making sure every corner was spotless. He could very well not have bothered; earlier Mayuzumi had come to tell him about the servants cleaning it later. And perhaps he shouldn’t have—the emptiness of the room gnawed at him as he gathered the last of his clothing and folded it into the trunks laid out before him.

“Everything happens for a reason,” he told himself, quietly, voice wavering.

 _Just listen to what you’re saying._ Shintarou had thought about those words again and again after that night. He knew what Daiki meant—but when Kazunari had come into his room later, all he could do was nothing.

They’d sat there and held on to each other in the dark all night long.

Shintarou shook his head. No, he should stop thinking. His feet felt heavy as he strode towards the door, waiting for the quiet knock. “You can come in now.”

He watched the servants take away his belongings, leaving behind a deserted room. As if he had never been here in the first place—people came and went, like the seasons. Presently Akashi would find a new musician to take up residence in this spot. Shintarou wondered if he had made a dent here at all.

_“Shin-chan, hurry up!”_

“Sachiko?” He whispered.

But of course it was not her. He felt the slightest of breezes behind him, faint and familiar. There could be nobody else here now as the retinue was waiting for him below, waiting for the sun to set. It had been Kazunari’s idea, to travel by cover of night. Kazunari, who was standing behind him right now, who had become inseparable from Shintarou’s own thoughts. He turned. 

“I’m here to bring you downstairs.” _You’re seeing right through me, aren’t you._

“Yes,” Shintarou said, leaning forward for a last kiss. _“Kazunari.”_

 

 

Akashi was, surprisingly, the only one present to see him off apart from Kazunari. Whether or not the rest had chosen to stay in or had been barred from coming out was as good as anyone’s guess, though Shintarou now suspected the latter upon seeing the daimyo’s face. Beside him stood Kazunari, his posture unusually stiff. Shintarou forced himself to look away. 

_His traitorous mind was of no help, sending him back to the night before, when the moon was bright and the last candle had been extinguished. He had allowed it to take over, body awash in mellow light, and Kazunari was there. There, on the woven mats, fingers tracing every bump and valley, bright eyes peering up at him through the dark. Something caressing his hair, the breeze through an open window, a tug, a choked cry._

_Why did he have to trust reason so much when it had failed him again and again? Why did he have to rationalize when the answer was there right in front of him? Why did he not listen?_  

As he was helped into the carriage, Shintarou felt a hand on his shoulder. “Wait.”

“…My lord?”

“You have forgotten something.” Akashi produced a small, wrapped lacquer box from his sleeves, pushing it into Shintarou’s hands so fast that it took him a moment to realize there was something there. “As I’ve said before, you have served me well here. A small token of my appreciation.”

A flash of annoyance creased his brows, but Shintarou nodded in thanks, putting it gingerly onto the bench inside. “Thank you, Lord Akashi.”

“Midorima.”

He started, turning back to study his liege carefully. Behind, he could see the tiniest smile playing on Kazunari’s lips. “Yes?” 

“It’s sweet.” Despite the rapidly rising torrent of confusion in his thoughts, Shintarou realized, with some trepidation, that Akashi’s smile was genuine.

-

Shintarou had told himself not to open the box until he had reached Edo, but the overwhelming curiosity had taken root in his stomach. What had Akashi meant, then? Was it yet another mocking jab? The comb bounced along with his clothing at the ragged road, discomfiting him to an extent that warranted no sleep. If that were to be the case…

Carefully he unwrapped the red-and-gold cloth, stuffing it into his kimono. The box was just large enough to hold his comb, Shintarou mused. That had to have been intentional. It clicked open, and his heart stopped.

A piece of paper fell out of the box, fluttering down to his lap. Inside the box, neatly wrapped, were three dango.

He had no idea how Kazunari had convinced Akashi to do such a thing, but what he knew was the laughter rumbling in his stomach, his throat, finally breaking free into the confines of the carriage. _It’s sweet._  

It was true, he knew, as he bit into one, the tears finally free to fall.

-

Spring, 1592 

-

Kazunari was dozing in spite of himself, having spent an exhausting morning running to and fro attending to wedding finalizations. In a weeks’ time the entire court would be moving, if briefly, to the Imperial Palace, and Akashi was not one to stand for procrastination.

Of course Mayuzumi had to pick this moment to appear beside him and utter, in his uncaring monotone, “You have a letter.”

After shooing him out (and some muttering on it being rude to sneak up on people), Kazunari laid eyes on the scroll the other had set down for him. Only since the beginning of this year had Akashi started relaxing the restriction on receiving private letters, though that had changed Kazunari’s routine little. His father had sent him a short message a moon prior, then nothing else. It was to be expected, after all, for a son turned over as part of a debt.

He opened the green casing, startled at the rattling sound inside. It did not sound much like a letter—Kazunari emptied it out onto a pillow, eyes widening at the small, very familiar box that appeared.

Hands shaking, he opened it. Onto his kimono fell a small comb, painted a soft, plain green, the most familiar color. Kazunari turned it to the other side. Inlaid with gold was his name.

“Shin-chan…”

The soft sound of silk beneath it alerted Kazunari to the words written there, on the wrapping. There, inked, was not the perfect, angular brush strokes Shintarou made, but familiar all the same:

“Brother.”

_“Kazue.”_

Kazunari threw his head back, wordless laughter escaping his mouth. He had been gone six moons, and _this_ was all it took for those memories to come rushing back. Tight was his grip on the comb, so tight that he was almost afraid it would break in two. But even worse was to not have it at all, and so he held on. What _else_ had he to hold onto—

“Kazunari.”

Imperceptibly, the hairs on the back of his head stood up, momentarily forgetting. Was it Mayuzumi, who had come to hurry him? Was it Akashi, here to see him at his most vulnerable? Was it, _was it_ —

“It’s me. Don’t you remember?”

Kazunari turned, choking on the laughter that finally came at the sight of the man in his doorway. He was not blind, after all, though the mist over his eyes was making it difficult. He reached out a hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

“I remember.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [The picture](http://diaemyung.tumblr.com/post/75770888510/midorima-and-his-younger-sister-i-really-wanna) that inspired this angsty mess.
> 
> This fic, as well as the song mentioned above, is based off the real story of Zhong Yi, a guqin (stringed instrument) player, who lived during the Spring and Autumn Period in China. Zhong, who lived in the Chu kingdom, was captured during battle and presented to the Jin kingdom. He was released after the king was (some say, persuaded by a member of the court) moved by his music and loyalty to his home country.
> 
> In the song the musician and his lover never meet each other again, but well...
> 
> A few more historical notes:  
> \- If it wasn't clear, both Midorima and Takao are from retainer (vassal) families to their respective daimyo. I didn't really make the relationships super clear, though...I will if I decide to write more from this verse. Which is likely considering the still-dangling loose ends for pretty much everyone else. *wink wonk*
> 
> \- Glasses were first brought to Japan in 1549, and started being made by artisans beginning in the late 1500s.
> 
> \- The koto is one of the national instruments of Japan, similar to the Chinese guzheng (which is longer than the guqin).
> 
> \- Western matchlock guns were introduced to Japan by the Portuguese in 1543, although Japan already had its own firearms in the 1200s introduced from China.
> 
> \- Haru no Umi is an actual song played during the New Year. It is a modern (1929) piece though, but I'm shit at finding old pieces of music. Please pretend it existed 500 years ago. :)
> 
> Hope this fic was enjoyable, at least. Still trying to get the hang of these characters ;_; It kind of turned into a giant wordvomit.


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